How They Became Vampires
by Sandory
Summary: This story is about how the originals existed.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

The air was cold and still under the dark, night sky in the grassy fields and muddy farms of Baudelaire's Rise. The Baudelaire's River, situated rather nearby for convenient irrigation, was flowing slower than usual today, so that even the slightest sound would disrupt the peaceful tranquility of the silence. Houses made of bricks and granites were built sparsely, each one with an enormous grass field to call its own, the largest grass fields belonging to the houses of the richest. It was plain clear – who was rich, who was poor, but living in a rural area like Baudelaire's Rise, where poverty was widespread and wealth had no place, it could be said that the number of rich families could be counted off the fingers of one hand.

Illuminated under the weak, magenta light rays of an old, rusty lantern, the rocky pathway led Gretel on, towards the looming pale grey house, that had a sign distinctly planted right in front of it, blotched by dark, black ink in bold letters: BAUDELAIRE'S RISE, HOME FOR THE SPECIAL.

_Special, _her eyes arrived at the sign, narrowing slightly, as they scanned the grey demeanor of the house, regarding the word most skeptically. Her legs were weak from hours of walking and her hands were tired from hours of carrying and cradling the white, soft bundle that blanketed a baby. _Her _baby.

She dragged her feet a couple of metres over the brick-layered path, digging into her reserves for the last bit of strength she still had in her to take on the tiny stairway that led to a brown, wooden door. Kneeling down, she laid the baby, wrapped in white bundle, a strong wave of emotions suddenly rocking her.

Knocking the door and waiting for it to open, she found it hard not to cry. The tiny blue eyes twinkled at her, swirling with utmost innocence and shining vibrantly with youth. She tore off her necklace and reached down to put it on him, careful to plant one final kiss on his forehead.

The door swung open. A large nose, possessing an uncanny resemblance to a pelican's beak, of an old woman popped out before the rest of her emerged from the inside of the house. She stepped out, looking slightly perplexed, as her eyes moved from Gretel to the baby, and once again to Gretel, and finally settling on the baby.

"He is a beautiful boy," the old lady finally spoke slowly, cautiously.

Gretel's mind was finally at peace. She could feel her strength withdrawing itself.

"Yes," she breathed. "Yes, he is."

The old woman nodded continuously at the baby, looking quite excited. "Alright. Well, please, come in –"

"No," Gretel cut her. "Thank you… but, no."

The old woman stared hard at her now.

"You want to abandon this baby boy?" she inquired diplomatically.

Gretel let out what was supposed to be a suppressed sob. "I haven't a choice."

"What's your name? Are you his mother?" she continued, her voice growing sharper with each question.

Gretel's face was colourless now.

"I'm his mother… please…," she said weakly. "Please take care of my son. I've lived – long – long enough – to see him…"

The old woman was too alarmed now, her head besieged by too many burning questions, but she fought back her curiosity and in turn offered Gretel her hospitality profusely. But Gretel rejected it, her face, the face of happiness yet despair, getting up to leave.

"Wait!" the old woman shouted, gripping her hand fiercely. "What's his name?"

Gretel turned again, this time her face serene and well-composed, a dazed smile on her face.

"Lucas Peter. His name is Lucas Peter."

As she spun around, she took one last glance at her son, and her composure crumbled, her face crumpled in anguish, and a fleet of pain was momentarily seen in her eyes, before it was deflected and replaced with an incomprehensible, hard mask once again.

The old woman stared after her, still quite in a trance, until she had disappeared into the darkness. She picked the baby up and stroked his head gently as she made her way back into the comfort of the orphanage. She swayed the white bundle gently as she entered the living room, greeting her furry black cat. The cat meowed back, gazing at the baby curiously, before pouncing after her and landing on the sofa. Next to the cat, the old woman turn her head towards him –

In place of the cat, was now a young man with straight jet-black hair and dark eyes, inspecting the baby gravely.

"Now what was that all about?" he turned away, asking casually, as he poured a glass of crunchy apple juice for himself.

"It's a baby, Salem," Mrs Lompie smiled.

She explained the whole story to him, as he gulped down his crunchy apple juice, now she herself realizing how weird the encounter had been. Salem spoke again, but not before offering Mrs Lompie a glass of crunchy homemade honey lemonade.

"Never met one like that before," he admitted nonchalantly, helping himself to another swig of crunchy apple juice.

"Yes, it was too weird. The baby, the lady," Mrs Lompie was now frowning.

Salem stretched out his hand. "Could have I look?"

Mrs Lompie extended out her hands as he took the baby from hers carefully, examining it as he drank down his crunchy apple juice. As his fingers traveled around the baby's head, he felt it brushed aside something peculiar – an ornament – and he felt a deep flow of connection entering him, catching recognizable characteristics of what seemed to be –

He pulled out the ornament. It was a necklace, and engraved upon the pendant was the word _'Bennett'._ For the first time since he had sat on the sofa, Salem stopped drinking and put his glass down, facing Mrs Lompie now.

"What did you say his name was again?"

"Lucas Peter. Odd name right?" Mrs Lompie said drawlingly.

Salem shook his head. "No, no… I _know_ who he is, Mrs Lompie!"

"What do you mean, Salem?" Mrs Lompie was now confused. "Are you relative?"

Salem suppressed his laughter. Of course, he was relative, or at least a distant one. He held out the necklace for Mrs Lompie to see, so that the pendant could be clearly seen under the weak light of the burning candle that lit the dark room.

"Look at this," he beamed.

Mrs Lompie bent forward and gasped.

A new realization dawned upon the roof of the grey-walled house. Lucas Peter Bennett.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thewondermagicalme: Thank you for reviewing my 1st chapter! :) I'm sorry for the slow update, but hope you will like the 2nd chapter and review it! :)**

Chapter two

The long stretch of manors had been long unoccupied since fifteen years ago. The wealthiest people had lived there, flaunting the rich alabaster white paint on their walls, but now it was a mere abandoned street.

The mystery behind it had been simple to the villagers. A whole family of nine murdered in their own home, without the knowledge of their neighbor, discovered by their deliveryman the next morning, who had run down the now empty streets, screaming most hysterically at the break of dawn.

The Vampes was a wealthy family, arrogant and unpopular with their less rich neighbors and villagers. Joseph Vampes was the head of the family, boastful and discriminating, and his wife, Elizabeth, was no less. Their children were at that time young and still dashing at their innocent youthful age, but altogether disliked as well. It was evident that they would come to no good end, but no one had expected this.

They had chauffeurs, chefs, housemaids and even a private deliveryman, who happened to be a paperboy, who had discovered them that very dark morning. It had been far too traumatizing for the boy, a horrible ordeal, to have seen their faces and limbs, all caked with blood, multiple slashes everywhere, blood oozing out of deep, jagged cuts, pieces of bloodstained skin everywhere, and more and more blood.

The police had no head start. Sure enough, the Vampes were very much disliked and no one would have mourned their deaths, even less hold a funeral for them, but no villager had a strong enough reason for murder. Money was not the ultimate price as villagers in Baudelaire's Rise had never so much prioritized money, or dreamt of being rich – it was a dream banished from all minds.

Apart from unsuccessfully arresting any potential suspect, the police had a hard time getting Hubert Sherry to start talking. He had been muted due to shock and was to spend the coming weekend at home, without having any mails to deliver. When Hubert did finally start talking, he had said in a stuttering voice that he had seen, or so he thought he had, a silver, furry large dog hanging around nearby the bushes of the Vampes' massive garden. The police did not buy his story, especially when he mentioned the hunger gleaming in its dark eyes, an almost murderous look. Hubert was immediately referred to a hospital and had not been heard of since.

What was most appalling was how the bodies were gone the very next day after the police had cordoned the area, the yellow tape that shouted 'CRIME SCENE INVESTIGATION' torn and beaten down. It was hair-raising and very unordinary, but the police, plucking up false courage, began tracking the dead bodies down.

Many police failed to return home, some were found dead with a huge gash in their necks. The neighbourhood lived in fear, and after a while, resentment for the police officers completely abandoned their investigation. Every one of them pretended as though nothing had happened, the authorities deluded themselves, showing absolute nonchalance, that the people had nothing to fear, that it had been a special, exceptional accident that was unlikely to happen again.

It was however no more than mere pretence. They lived in constant fear of death and the policemen lived in constant trauma, after watching their own fellow officers die. All the policemen had silently vowed not to broach the topic, all but one.

Roy Mundac was no friend of the Vampes. He was thirty-seven and knew well enough that the family was arrogant and very powerful indeed. In their district, they had carried out many sorts of punishments on those who had upset or crossed them. He never had a good impression of them but ten years ago he had been in the same high school batch as one of their sons, Gustav Vampe.

Gustav was popular, good-looking and gangly. Roy had never liked him but had never had a clash with the boy before. Frankly, he had nothing against Gustav. He had nothing against the Vampes, particularly after Alice Vampe, the elegant and beautiful younger sister of Gustav, entered their high school. Roy had taken a liking to her. Perhaps it was just a crush, no more than that, for he never approached her, but watched her from afar.

Fifteen years had passed. He wanted justice. They might have been cruel, or arrogant, but Roy did not think any one deserved such indignant treatment – to be forgotten and brushed aside by the neighbourhood. They had vanished like thin air but not even a soul gave a rat's fart. That was, in Roy's unbiased opinion, preposterous. Thereon, he set off to bring justice to the Vampes once and for all.

Now Roy stood in the dilapidated manor, examining the rich flooring and carpet, the expensive, silver and gold furnishings. The manor was beautiful but there was something haunted about it – was it the way the air stood still with the absence of life when the doorknobs and carpet still had marks of being pulled and treaded upon, as if there were still inhabitants?

Roy dived underneath the dining table when he heard the back door creak open. His blood ran cold. For the first time since he had began his investigation, he was feeling scared. Very scared indeed.

Without the sound of footsteps, Roy could still feel the presence of someone, a shift in the unmoving air all of a sudden. His heart was racing as it dawned on him that whoever it was might very well turn out to be the murderer of the Vampes.

Roy had never been afraid of criminals. If anything, his fear would evaporate and hatred would drive him to capture them, even if that involved precariously putting his life on the edge. And yet he was consumed with fear, fear that he had never felt before. Was it the feeling of death?

It was the murderer. The man who killed the Vampes was right here, and Roy could step out with the gun in his holster and arrest the man and do the Vampes some justice. But a weird feeling crept over Roy. Why on earth would the murderer be back here, in the house?

Millions of thoughts were racing through Roy's mind. But only one was vivid enough to stick inside, while other images just flashed through. Again and again, the images of the policemen who died investigating floated in the forefront of his mind. Roy was now sick with fright, unable to move.

A cold, weak voice reverberated through the room. "A mug of hot chocolate please, Agatha."

Agatha. Roy knew that Agatha Herrings had been the Vampes' housekeeper. What was she doing here now?

"Master, you must rest," Agatha was quivering. "You are weak…"

The voice spoke again, harder now. "I will wait. I will not rest until they have returned."

Agatha did not answer but there was the shuffling of feet across the room, which indicated that she was perhaps making hot chocolate. Beneath the white dining table, the sense of fear was helplessly growing and feeding on Roy.

"I _must_ see to it that they are safe," the weak voice broke the silence, and this time it sounded persistent.

"Master…they are," Agatha's voice said fervently. "But it is not safe for them to return. They have cold blood in their hands. It was very risky for us to return too."

Roy felt a surge of anger. Whoever this was, had murdered before.

"You are right…" the weak voice said in a grave voice. "What you say is right. But I know no danger now. Given what I am today, I do not think any thing, not a human definitely, can pose so much a threat to me."

There was a pause suddenly. Then the voice spoke again, this time maliciously.

"Agatha, someone has intruded our house it seems."

Cold fear clutched at Roy's heart. It almost stopped beating. Roy began to pray. Agatha was moving again. Then she stopped. She seemed to be examining something.

"Hmm… that must belong to the fingerprints of the policemen who are investigating," Agatha said in a hushed voice.

Roy knew he was right. They _were _related to the murder of the Vampes. They were obviously criminals. It seemed that the master had fallen. It was the perfect to strike and arrest.

"Wait…"Agatha's voice suddenly sounded uncertain. "I thought they called off the search…"

"It doesn't matter, does it?" the weak voice was now sneering. "He is here tonight, we might as well invite him."

Roy knew they were referring to him. His hand clutching his gun, he emerged from under the table and revealed himself to them. He gasped.

The man that stood before him was leaning back, slightly slumped in an armchair, drinking a mug of hot chocolate. He had dark-blonde hair and hazel brown eyes. He was twenty years old. And Roy knew who he was.

He was Elijah Vampe. Roy could hardly believe what he was seeing. Roy had seen the crime scene fifteen years ago. Elijah had been there, with deep cuts everywhere on his limbs then. He had been dead and yet now he stood before Roy, not a day older than a decade and a half ago, not even a single scratch on him. Roy could not hide the look of horror on his face.

"Roy Mundac…" Elijah smiled as he said his name. "What brings you here?"

Roy's mind was in a whirl now. He had lost his voice and he had forgotten about the gun in his holster.

"I thought they called off the search already," Elijah spoke again.

Roy was trembling from head to toe, too shocked to speak. Elijah must have noticed for his smile broadened and he spoke again.

"You were too curious," Elijah said, and somehow he did not sound dangerous. "It is such a pity indeed."

"How…" Roy could barely get any words out of his throat.

Elijah was deep in thought for a moment. There was something unreal about him – the way his skin was so pale, and the way his voice seemed to belong to someone older. And yet Roy could not help feeling that there was an air of kindness around him.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Mundac?" Elijah now said diplomatically. "If there isn't I suggest you would best leave."

"But master," Agatha protested, and it was the first time she had spoken since Roy had shown himself. "You can't let him. For the family. For the Vampes."

Elijah's gaze lingered on Roy still.

"If I am right, Mr. Mundac is trustworthy," his voice was severe now. "It is a question of his intelligence."

"How can it be?" Roy had now found his voice. "You were… you were there the other day!"

Elijah showed no sign of impatience. "What you saw was an illusion. What all of you saw was a lie."

"He does not want us here," Agatha said coldly.

Roy had now remembered his gun. He was now pointing it at Elijah.

"I don't want to shoot you," Roy said in a calm voice. "But you have to explain. Explain everything to the police. Explain it all to me. If you're innocent, there's nothing to hide."

Elijah was no longer smiling.

"You see, that's the thing… I am _not _innocent… "

"You see," Roy gritted his teeth as he pulled down the trigger. "it's my job to catch criminals like you."

He released. The bullet ricocheted off and hit the man squarely in the chest. He was dead immediately. Agatha's scream echoed through the house. Roy turned on her.

"You are coming with me," Roy said in a hard voice. "to the police station."

Before he could start moving, he felt the movement behind him. Spinning around, the armchair on which Elijah been sitting was empty. Before fear could even materialize within him, he saw the creature loomed on him, its teeth sinking deep into the flesh between his shoulder and neck. Then it withdrew and plunged down again, this time on his neck. Roy felt his nerve snap like cords, and he was dead immediately, but not before he recognizing his murderer. Elijah Vampe.


End file.
